


Approximately One Hundered, Sixty-One Thousand, Two Hundred and Eighty Seconds

by InsomniacsOcean



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Beforus Culling (Homestuck), Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Multi, POV Multiple, POV Second Person, Past Abuse, Slow Burn, lots of headcanons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:48:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28451160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsomniacsOcean/pseuds/InsomniacsOcean
Summary: Cronus gets told to update his music if he ever wanted a chance, Kankri helps him in more ways than one. Girls plot, drama ensues.The flower is important.
Relationships: Aranea Serket/Cronus Ampora (past), Cronus Ampora/Kankri Vantas, Cronus Ampora/Meenah Peixes (Unrequited), Damara Megido/Meulin Leijon, Damara Megido/Rufioh Nitram (past), Meenah Peixes/Aranea Serket, Meulin Leijon/Kurloz Makara (Past), Mituna Captor & Kurloz Makara, Mituna Captor/Latula Pyrope, Porrim Maryam & Kankri Vantas, Porrim Maryam & Latula Pyrope, Rufioh Nitram/Horuss Zahhak
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. The Plan

**Author's Note:**

> Graphic but not too graphic violence.  
> Harsh thinking of Mituna.

You sit in a pile of assorted fabrics, fiddiling quietly with your stained glasses. Damn Captor. Ten trolls loiter around in the room, you couldn’t say it was quiet but you couldn’t say it was alive with chatter and joy. The floor was made primarily of blackish marble and the walls of a grey metal. Everything was dull, and so so familiar in the way that you loathed most.

That is, until two loud claps come from the upper middle. Almost everyone simultaneously turned their heads. You could almost see Meenah turning to Aranea with a small mouthed “thanks babe” before taking out something from her psylladex.

“Alright shrimp! This is important so listen up!” she says, with a stern look on her face, a few get up from their spot and walk over to her. You follow suit. The quiet chatter had grown to a few mumbles, ‘what is it now?’ ‘what’s going on?’ ‘did something happen?’ In her hands, she holds a spiky, black and white ball. You remember it being mentioned a few times before, but as a Derse dreamer, The Tumor never truly concerned you. You often just let it be, allow the others handle it. “Me n Serk have made a plan! Not a very good one but still it’s all we got.”

A concerned voice with an small undertone of enthusiasm speaks up, “yo isnt that The Tumor? How’d you get that, I thought skaia was like- gone!” You glance over to Latula, she has an arched brow and an arm slung around Mituna, even though he has a good couple inches on her. Straight black hair falls over her chest with side swept bangs. “plus, aren’t you a Derse dreamer? thought you guys didn’t deal with that kinda stuff.” She jerks around as she speaks, too. Wow, it’s nearly as if she’s putting on a show. A show just for you, imagine that. 

“That’s an interesting story, and it may be revisited at a later date, but we’re running low on time and this is, again, a very important matter-“ Aranea gives her a condescending look before she is brushed off to the side by the higherblood.

“Yeah anyways, so…” Meenah drifts off, scowling down in thought at the object in her hands.

Mituna let’s put a groan, twitching about impatiently and out of rhythm, “What’s taking so long?!” he whines, with that god-awful, scratchy voice of his. You loath him with almost every ounce in his body but alas, he has the perfect girl and the scary-as-fuck moirail. There’s no point in even trying to pull anything, like you have various times in the past.

Meenah sighs, taking the object into one clutch now. She holds it up for you all to see. “Alright so good news, we are gonna create a new universe, sorta, but bad news, we won’t be there to rule over it.” Aranea looks at her, anticipating more but there is no more to come. Porrim is the next to break the silence.

“So? That still means we’ve won. And besides, I’m positive there are other means available to be able to be a part of it. Maybe not rule over it like the vicious and unforgiving tyrants some of us wanted to be, but we will still be able to play our part,” she says. Maryam appears to have her hands folded and is standing tall next to Kankri. You know Porrim as brash and unreasonably set in her options, but the latter? Horrorterrors forbid. You can see his bright eyes dancing around, looking for someone or something out of line that he can lecture, patiently waiting for the right moment to step in. What an overbearing asshole.

“Actually-“

Meenah cuts her off once more, “Yeah, sorta. But we’re hopeless, in all honesty. No offense,” you can see Kankri narrow his eyes at that one. Meenah seems disheveled. She took the place of leading the group after Captor lost it, who only became leader because of some personal business of Kankri’s (course you are left out of it.). But never have you seen her this close to cracking before. This was something big, and something so very bad.

“-But we’re physically on the verge of being too old for this. I mean, the game was only supposed to last for a couple o’ wipes, right? Look at us. Three sweeps in and were loosing our shit,” she spreads out her arms in assertance of her point. “captors brain is fried, Leijon’s deaf and Makara’s gone mute, Ampora went Grimdark! Remember that shitstorm? Damara’s lost, and Rufioh was on ther verge of becoming a fucking HORSE! We’re in a dead session! It’s over.”

“You know-“ you aren’t suprised. As soon as she made use of the word ‘offense’ you knew he was gonna start running his mouth. “Saying ‘no offense’ before you say something that’s quite literally offensive and honestly on the brink of being straight up abelistic is not a good model at all. It’s honestly sad that you cannot-“ Porrim twacks him on the lower back of his head. Serves him right. 

Meenah finally bites the bullet, “Yeah aight. We’re gonna have to scratch.” Something happens then, you see a small flash of purple across Kurloz’s and Meulin’s faces, but no one else seems to notice. It was probably just the dimness of the room getting to you. Your mind making up things to speed along the interaction and make it more interesting for you.

“Yeah, I’m not following, whaddya mean by a scratch, doll?”

“Though he is a mutated lowblood and they are commonly known to have a lower intellect than us higher bloods, I admit I am inclined to second his question.” And they think you’re the hemophobic one, what a joke. You can see that you have shared this thought with the other ‘mutated lowblood’, for he earns another slap from the jadeblooded.

Aranea steps forward again,”It’s a hard reset. We won’t remember anything and there’s a low chance we will even live- our souls and minds. Gone. It would be a quite interesting topic and a marvelous tool we could use to better our understanding of life in it’s entirety as we know it…if it were not so tragic, as well.” There’s something boiling inside you. She stumbles over her words and it just makes you angrier.

You throw your hands up, “so what. Were gonna just fuckin’ die? Just be erased from existence?!” You can feel your stare growing cold. There are a lot of expressions around the room. Meulin has her hands clasped over her mouth while Kurloz seems perfectly at ease. Porrim and Latula are lost in thought and Mituna doesn’t seem to comprehend, or he does, but doesn’t really seem to care. The rest look frightened. All are understandable. 

Aranea stutters out a response, “E-essentially yes, it’s the only option left, the only option that would grant the entire existence of, well, existence itself to continue to be.” She’s fiddling with her hands, unsure of what to do, and it’s as if she’s not responding to you, but everyone. 

But you aren’t thinking straight. Your mind is going everywhere at once. “this is fuckin stupid. Can’t we just wait around? See what happens?! I don’t want to fuckin die after being stuck for three sweeps in this hell hole of a session!” 

Aranea shrugs, “None of us do, but we have to. I do believe there is a way we are able to live longer, our souls that is,” she explained. She was talking to you like you were a confused child. It just pissed you off even more.

The fucshiablood of the group stepped forward, “yeah so, when I was flyin around on Derse, I found somefin way far out. It was like a string of bubbles, but a thousand of ‘em,” she waved around her hands, as if to express what they looked like. You arched an eyebrow. It was probably just some sgrub thing that keeps the players from leaving. Something that doesn’t matter. “They all seem to have trolls in them too.” 

Latula blurts out exactly what you were thinking, “babe is this for realz? it soundz like a hallucination, not gonna lie haha!” You could tell the laugh was forced, almost everything about her personality and speech is. You aren’t a mind player, but you’ve been faking your own character long enough to notice it in others.

“Well it wasn’t just Meenah’s report that we have to go off of. We have a consultant, remember?”

“MISTER MARSHMELLOWS!” Mituna yells, you practically jump out of your skin. This wasn’t the god damn time to be yelling, fucking idiot! You silently curse who or whatever fucked up his brain. The old Mituna - your friend, Mituna, wouldn’t have done that. 

Turning back to Serket, you notice she looks just as startled as you were. “Yes, uh. Him. He said that if we died before the bomb sets off, we may be able to… be inhabitants of the very bubbles Meenah was referring to.”

Porrim coughs, “Actually, may I add something?”

“Go ahead.”

“When I died, I found myself in a world filled with others. There were duplicates of ourselves others who looked similar. A girl, who might have been a Megido, explained she was the Host. She also explained how they worked to me. Of course, I was only able to venture around for a little while before I had been revived,” she nudges Kankri slightly with an elbow. He creates space between the two. If you were him, you would try to create the least space available, such ungrateful an ungrateful brat- having Porrim all to himself and doing nothing with that power.

Meenah looked pissed, “And why didn’t you mention that sooner?”

“I don’t know if you hadn’t noticed, but death isn’t exactly and easy topic,” she remarks, snarking. Maryam gestures around to the uncomfortable crowd your group has become.

“Yeah...I’m feeling a little nauseous,” Meulin mumbles, staying on the right arm of Kurloz. She’s just begun to stare down at the floor. You’ve noticed that she only does this whenever she doesn’t want to ‘hear’ anymore. The room falls silent, trolls just standing around and glancing at eachother. You can tell their Hope is practically lost. This is bad.

You clap your hands on your thighs, breaking the silence. “Welp. This is a shitshow. I’m out.” You turn to leave, and as you walk off, you hear her.

“Well that’s fine. I could go for an eternity without an Ampora around.”

You couldn’t leave for long. What if they were right? You were going to be erased for all time because you let your emotions get the better if you. ‘Stupid, stupid!’ you think, hitting your wrist against your forehead in time, but something catches your ear at you walk back. Kankri’s talking, but he’s not lecturing, there’s hope in his voice but barely any at all. Whats going on? What made him like this- he’s never like this unless- oh god. Oh fuck. You pick up your pace.

“Meenah, stop. They said that there is another way can we please just try the other way,” there’s desperation settled there too. They did, didn’t they? You’re practically running through the halls, just following the sound.

“Kan- step off. The bombs already been lit your just wasting our time with this!”

“No! Killing people is never the only option, I understand that you’re a fuchsiablood and it’s kind of your caste’s go-to, no offense but this isn’t right!” You can see the blurred figures now. You can see him reaching out to her, trying to take hold of the trident in her hand. There’s blood. There’s blood everywhere. The smell of metal assaults your senses, there’s so much- too much.

“Excuse me?” her voice raises, “You think I’m doing this because I’m fuchsia!?”

You can’t go any farther, completely stopped in your tracks. Meenah has him in a near choke-hold, he’s not reaching out to her, he’s waving around, trying to upset the balance. You’ve seen lusii do this before, shes going to break him you have to do something- but, you can’t.

“No- no- I didn’t mean it like that please, let’s just wait to see what comes- you don’t know that this is the only opti-“ his voice gives out to a think gurgle as bright, cherry red blood fills his throat. She drops him to the floor as blood pools around him, coming from three great holes in his stomach. Aranea’s near the stage, turned around and holding her hands over her ears. You can’t think of anything but ‘coward.’ You and Kankri were never close, but seeing that? It ruined you.

“MEENAH!” you shout, fists clenched in rage. You can feel your heart racing a mile a minute. You admit, you’re scared. Terrified of what she will do to you, for you are fully aware of the fate you deserve. 

She turned towards you with a sag, her clothing is stained and ripped, you can see a spray of purple across the side of her neck. “aaaaand he’s back. What? You wanna go next?”

You move towards her, equipping Ahab’s Crosshairs. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

She grinds her sharp teeth in a snarl. The way she looks at you disturbs you. She has a thick layer of bloodlust with a hint of a powertrip coating her expression and movement. “saving our fucking lives, and why do you feel all high and mighty! You stormed off!”

“‘Cause I didnt think you were fucking serous!” You wave the weapon around, preparing yourself mentally. But studying her, you notice something important. Her eyes are bloodshot and there is a faint tint of a dark pink across her face. She’s been crying. “I...I don’t want to do this, Meenah. Seriously just put the trident down, we can talk about this.”

Aranea doesn’t turn, but you can hear her say, “yes, we should just- calm down for a second. Cronus you weren’t here during the-“

“Shut up, god for once, shut up,” you lash out at her. You don’t mean to sound the way you do, but you can have her interning in your battle. You can almost feel the sweat running off of your forehead as you look over at her.

Meenah takes the chance to lunge at you, it becomes a full on brawl, both of you unreasonably stong and withstanding. You throw Meenah off of you for a second, watching her huff for a few seconds before throwing herself and trident again, but it hits the wrong target.

The two of you pause in shock, and you can see Meenah’s eyes well up with tears. There’s nothing more you want to do than help her, just have her hug at you and you just shoosh and hold her tight, she looks horrible. You take the opportunity to jump her, but it’s off centered. The two of you fall and you simply stop fighting. You act like you were caught off guard as she stabs you through the naval.

Seadwellers have a lot of blood, and she knows that. You stain practically her entire torso violet in the worst way possible. She just pushes you off of her, as your mind begins to go numb. You aren’t dead, but you wish you were. Vital organs were hurt, but she missed the spine. She missed the fucking spine.

Meenah doesn’t know that though, she sits next I you and Aranea’s corpse. What a weird thought, to call your own body yours.

Meenah curls up in on herself. Her hair is messed up and she appears to be the textbook definition of disshelvsled. It hits you again, that ping of wanting to help, but there’s nothing you can do. The blood is pouring and you don’t think there’s a chance you would be able to raise your arm if you could. Your mind loosens, it’s hard to think and concentrate on anything. Everything *looks* loose, too. She’s loosing her shape in your eyes, everything is. Everything feels very distant and then - it stops.


	2. Needs More Variety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cronus gets advice from Meenah.

You feel your consciousness come back to you as the pink, artificial moonlight pours through the velvet-curtained window. A small ache is pulsing at the side of your skull. As sagely as possible, you bring a cold, coarse palm to it, rubbing in small circles.

Of course, it doesn’t fix anything. You haven’t gotten a lot of a good day’s sleep recently, due to you switching your recuperacoon to a cushioned and much more appealing human platform called a bed. Sure, it may be soft and fit for someone of your biological stature, but without sopor, it’s extremely hard for anyone of your species to rest.

You get up haphazardly, combing fingers through your curly hair. When it’s not styled, it can nearly fall down a little past your fins end. No one has seen you like this other than yourself and you plan to change that...eventually.

You pull on the usual white t-shirt, boxers, and jeans. There is a slight pause, a moment of silence in your small, secluded bubble. The visions strike you again, if not for but a mere second. You can feel your shoulder involuntary jerk, but quickly shake it off as fast as it had happened.

Through the seashore, the soft sound and sand compress together comes from underfoot. You can feel the heel of your foot digging into the worm down sole of your boots, but you try to pay no mind to it. ‘Beauty is pain, after all,’ you jokingly remind yourself with flickering fins and a small smile creeping up onto your face. 

In the distance, a stout figure leans against a concrete wall. ‘Not a pose nor place for a princess,’ you think. 

There’s a relaxed expression across the Peixes’ face as she talks with another one of your old and present (if such a thing exists) mistakes. A history-buff with essays and analyses to compete with Vantas’ and a girl who was hatched to be nothing but trouble for peace and prosperity. They complement each other nicely, and you loathe it.

“Actually, it is rumored that entire cities has become submerged underwater due to your lusus’s arrival. This is backed up by the several ah-“ You can see Aranea buffer as blank eyes waver quickly between Meenah and you. “Bard of Trying To Hard coming up on your left.” Hands that had priorly been energetic and frantic are brought down to smooth out a skirt and hair. Ruined the mood once again, nice going, Ampora.

Meenah sighs, and turns to face you, her expression full of annoyance and irk. 

“Hey babe, and Aranea,” you address the two, giving it your all to put off a chill demeanor even when faced with an ex and a billion-sweep chase you’re destined to lose.

Meenah tightened her folded arms, “Can you naught sea we’re kind of busy here?” She gestures to the other girl, who now is looking quite uncomfortable and desiring to get back to her little rant.

You shrug, swiftly shoving your hands into tight jeans pockets with grey thumbs handing out. It looks cooler that way. “We’re dead! We have an eternity to temporarily drop ‘n pick up convo’s again, you can deal.”

The fuschia-blood makes a exasperated grunting noise, “Just tell me what you want.”

Strangely, this is exactly what you wanted to hear, and honestly were not prepared for anything else. “Well, y’know how when you first came to the bubbles, you never actually listened to any of my music,” you say with a hopeful tone, “y’know, like you said you would?” Meenah threw her head back and groaned. You took the opportunity to pull out a violet and gold-plated, by-and-for highblooded palmhusk, aka, a phone.

“Here, I just sent you the link, you should be able to review them now without any other ‘distractions’ and ‘obstacles’”. Meenah whines a regretful remark to herself. “So is that a yes I’m hearing?”

Meenah’s disposition softened, but still had an undertone of condescension and annoyance, “I wasn’t aware you were giving me a choice.”

“Wow you cats really do just think I’m some big asshole, huh,” you stated, with a dropped expression. “By the way, you still didn’t answer the question in case y’forgot.”

“Sure, fine, whatever.”

You displayed an elated visage, “Great! I’ll meet you back here in a couple of hours!”

Two hours pass, you review the contents of your songs - fresher songs and even old ones that you would rather be erased from your memory and phone completely. Why did you ever think Aquasex Renegade was a good idea. 

As sworn, you arrived to meet Aranea and Meenah once more. Serket looks disheveled to say the least, and Meenah barely had the time and effort to put back on her jewelry, of course, you did not see this. Living with 20/90 vision and no form of assistance (that is worn in public) does not help in many situations, but does allow you to step into this one, blissfully unaware of your drastically decreasing chances of even having a small fracture of a piece of dignity.

“So, whaddya think of it?” you questioned with a rosy expression. 

The girls exchange a flashing glance at one another. “It’s decent, at best. Could use a bit more variety with the choice of instrument, maybe genre too.” Aranea gives a small nod. She’s flushed blue.

You arc your eyebrow at her, but ignore it for the time being, who knows! Maybe she likes you and is too intimidated to speak! “Oh cool, which was your favorite?”

Meenah shrugged, thinning her lips into a solemn expression, “didn’t have one, they were pretty much on the same tier.”

You click your tongue, “well yeah, consistency is important.”

She shakes her head abruptly. “Nah, man. You literally only have a guitar. Pretty pathetic, if ya ask me,” she flared sharp, acicular fangs made for hunting.

“Please,” you dismissed, offended, “I can do a lot more than play a guitar, I just don’t let people know that about me. Need to give ‘em a surprise y'know.” 

“Of course.”

Seadwellers have an acute hearing, you knew she knew as well. She was trying to tempt you into a fight. ‘Kismesistude is better than nothing at all!’ you thought stupidly.

“If you keep on underestimating me, one day I’m gonna get the better of you,” you emptily promised to her, placing a hand on your hip. You were prepared for a fight, and you were going to win, dammit.

She accessed the spear from her stride specious as if to remind you what happened the last time you challenged her to a fight spontaneously. “Please, you’re barely anything up against even Tuna in a fight!”

“He- ah shit.”

“I would like to jumó in right now to remind the both of you that 1. Cronus, albeit playful, threatening in any way will not help the situation. In fact, there is a high chance it will escalate into a full-fledged spar and I am positive that no one wants that,” Kankri lectured waging a simple finger at you. The guy appeared almost out of the thin air. He always does this, and always had, whether it be his past, future, or current self talking. 

“It wasn’t playful,” you sneer inwardly. Although clearly hearing this, the sweatered troll continued on and blatantly ignored you, raising a second finger.

“Secondly, Meenah, what you said about our friend, Captor, was nearing the edge of borderline ableism which I will not tolerate under any circumstance. You really should be thanking me for interrupting this clearly problematic encounter-“ you cut him off.

“Alright!” You clap your hands together, “Thanks for the help Meen, it means a lot. Also, be expecting even higher quality masterpieces in the future!”

Meenah scrunches up her nose as you walk away. At nearly twenty paces, you hear Aranea whispering to the fuschia: “You know, you’re a very good liar.” The line is quickly waved off by Kankri and he continues his lesson.

“Also, Meenah, or really the both of you, no offense given, but please do go take a shower you two smell,” he pauses, “Very invigorating to put it lightly.”

Meenah laughs, throws a few harsh remarks and is quickly pulled away from the area by a flustered Aranea.

Soon enough, you find yourself within your hive, and furthermore, your study. 

Old maps and charts are hung on the walls, books on top of books and great amounts of armory is mounted along the sides. A simple, woven, and beige-colored rug sits in the middle. Mechanical whirs and hums fill the room as flyer after flyer are created.


	3. Withered

A week passes.

You rose once again from a restless sleep. You stumble your way to the bathroom mirror, checking your complexion. Dark circles droop under blank eyes, which lie just beneath an old, gnarled scar. You tiredly reach over and pull on the handle of the farthest drawer on the silver vanity. It opens with a low, rumbling noise. Inside, there are several containers and bags. Most of them contain certain types of pills and poisons (in case you came across an opportunity where they may be a necessity), though neither of those are what you were looking for.

Deeper in, lies a small, circular container. Popping off the lid, you dab two grey fingertips in and begin applying them to your face. This product was originally created for the medium to highblooded women of your past society, though now you have found that foundation is a great way to hide imperfections that you’d rather not have to worry about.

You clean off your hands and wipe them with a nearby towel. The scar itself is still very much visible, but the burn marks are faint. Better than nothing at all, you suppose.

You finish cleaning up and head out of your bathroom, through the bedroom, across the hallway, up the stairs, and into the last room on the right: the studio. By the door, a tannish-colored acoustic stands against the wall. You captalogue the guitar and wait impatiently as your sylladex sorts itself out.

Soon, you're on your way out and through the bubbles. You notice that a few of your friends are nowhere to be found. not off and about, no one to meddle with, like they usually are. Several questions began prodding their way into your mind, but you simply ignored them and kept moving forward, the scenery around you changing as you do so.

Eventually, you see someone in the distance, sitting grievously against a wall, messing with her phone.

“Oh, hey Meenah! Didn’t see you there!” you blatantly lie, waving. She blinks up at you, an expression of dissatisfaction painting over her face.

She gets up, and walks over to you, pebbles and sand crunching beneath exaggeratedly heavy footsteps. “Yeah, alright. I admit it that I did wanna go over there to laugh in your face after nomoby came, but ya got a crowd to attend to.”

“A crowd? Are you serious? People- people actually came?!” You disclose to yourself that your voice may have reached another notch when sputtering out your response.

She clicks her tongue, placing a hand on her hip, “Yeah, now go. Do your stupid meeting thing.”

You’ve already started to jog haphazardly away by the time Peixes begins speaking, shooting her a small thumbs-up. “Alright! Thanks meen, catch ya later!” She lets out a sigh of discontentment as you cross over to the last bubble - the meeting place.

As your vision returns to you, it opens to a nice scene, one you hadn’t seen in a while.

In a purplish-lime field, dotted with pink and yellow flowers, eight trolls cloister together. Damara has a slung arm over Meulin as the two go on about fantasy characters and worlds, flipping thriugh a brightly colored magazine. Rufioh is to the side of them, translating every once in a while, awkwardly. Kurloz, Latula, and Mituna seem to be in a tight circle. It’s unclear as to whether they are talking or not. The rest don’t seem to notice them, so you quickly redirect your attention as well. Aranea is loudly bickering with Horuss about god knows what, the two are practically talking over eachother at this point, and Rufioh stands parallel to the indigo blood. Upon further inspection, Rufioh seems to be changing his glance from Damara and Meulin to the two bluebloods, trying to find an opening of escape.

Apart from nearly 70% of your friend group seemingly getting along (or at least the best they can manage) for once, something else catches your eye. Several instruments have been placed on a nearby patch, sorted by type and size.

They don't seem to notice you at first as you stand aghast, taking in the scene just for a little bit longer before it eventually derails itself. Glancing around, you search for an area to make your stage. Nearby, there is a lonely tree stump, grey like the color of ash. You climb on it and clap twice, feeling a rush of adrenaline begin to seep through you.

“Alright! As the flyer said, someone here needed help creating some music. And as you shoulda noticed, no purpose or name was specified,” you announce, grabbing nearly everyone’s attention (as expected, Meulin’s was delayed, but that can’t be helped.) They turn to you, a few faces of confusion and annoyance form as you speak. “Well, that’s because if you knew it was me, no one would’ve came! But, now that you’re all here, you can’t leave without it being extremely rude and would probably hurt a sensitive and caring guy like m-”

A voice cuts you off, “Ugh, should’ve known it was gonna be mew.” Damara giggles beside her.

Rufioh raises his hand, “Yeah, I gotta agree with that, sorry bro.”

The Leijon, Megido, Nitram, and Zahhak pick up their belongings and depart, quickly followed by Kurloz, a hysteric Mituna, and a dazed Latula. Aranea looks as if she is going to say something, raising up a hand. The hand is then quickly closed into an awkward clasp and she exits the bubblezone. Once again, you find yourself alone. It ended as quickly as it began, and even though it did hurt, it can’t be helped.

You slouch down on the stump, face in your hands and let your thoughts wander. It can’t be helped. Out of your sylladex, you take out a cigarette and place it between your lips. For no apparent reason, you think that the little wrapped up paper and wasted tobacco helps your confidence grow - no one can be pathetic with a cigarette, after all.

You take out your guitar again as well, shifting your body away from the entrance. If anyone was gonna come back to look at the sad state of your attempted failure, you didn't want to even know they were even there. 

Just as you do so, a loud, hearty cackle reaches your range of hearing. Damn Peixes.

You pluck out a couple of self deprecating cords, simply sitting on the grass and watching as the nonexistent wind slowly turns the grass to reflect the purplish green waves you once ruled.

Though, something about these waves sticks out to you, almost unnervingly. The flowers are withering and dead. Their petals are black and crinkled at the edges, the stems flaking off into dry, beige bits.

You mean down, placing your guitar aside, and pick one up to study it closer. It’s coarse, and nearly breaks at the touch. The leaves crunch at the slightest touch. One wrong move could send the flower into inexistence itself. What’s worse though, is that it seemed to be a bright, vibrant mixture of violet and a royal pink. This flower, it reminds you of your relationship with her.

You don’t know how long you had let your mind wander off for, but it was long enough for your body to jerk violently when a subtle, polite cough yanked your focus back into reality.


	4. Something To Inquire

You turn around, trying to hide the fact that your very soul itself could have jumped out of your skin and run away in that brief moment.

What you saw when you did so, however, was not what was expected at the least. A mutant blood, short and grossly thin for someone his age, stood before you. He displayed a surprised disposition as well, as he was also clearly caught off guard at your movements.

After a second or so, he lowered his hands to brush off his sweater and began talking, “My sincerest apologies for startling you, truly I should have known to take a more subtle approach or perhaps had waited until you had come to an end of- whatever you were doing. It was heedless of me, and I do hope you can forgive me, and soon, for I have something to inquire of you,” Kankri spoke, monotone as ever. There was barely ever any emotion in his voice, as if all the words had been programmed for him to say, or perhaps like a B-List actor reading their lines from a screen hidden by camera angle. You look him over, relaxing slightly.

“Kan? What’re you doin here?” you ask, straightening out your posture, and propping yourself on one arm. 

He narrows his eyes, and continues, “Number one, don’t call me that. I’m sure you know by now how demeaning sobriquets such as those are. Number two,” as he drones on, he’s counting the points made on his fingers and has the other arm raised slightly. “I came here in response to the flyer. Perhaps you didn’t realize this at first, but you accidentally left a few of your signature speech patterns in the informational part, so I knew it was going to be you and that most likely, no one was going to come. I then relayed this information to Porrim, stating how she would have the house to herself early into the day and she needn’t put up a fuss. Of course, she did, and that is why I am late. Again, my sincerest apologies but truly, if you want to ‘take it up’ with someone, it shouldn’t be me,” as he said ‘take it up’, he gestured finger quotes, as if he hadn’t ever heard the phrase before. What a tool. He continues talking, and you simply sit there and allow him to, not focusing on what he has to say at all. After a hot minute or so, he seems to be finished and awaiting a response.

“So, you came to help with my music?” you question, arching an eyebrow slightly. Kankri nods once, and you can almost visualize the gears in his mind working to craft out the next long-winded response he had in store for you.

You motion for him to sit on the stump with you. Obviously, he declines, but that was to be expected. “Well then, what d'ya play?” you say, combing a hand through rough, slicked back hair.

“To put it simply, the piano. I would like to consider well equipped with the ability to fluctuate between all of its variations as well, in actuality. Though, it has been a couple ah-“ he pauses, thinking, “billion or so sweeps since I have practiced, I must add.” You nod, gnawing slightly on the unlit cigarette that is still hanging in your mouth. It’s true that you were not surprised; if Kankri was going to play anything at all, it would be the piano. It just fits him.

“So, do you have it with you, or?” you glance off to the side, back where there used to be a pile of potential there’s now just flattened grass and flowers.

He’s quiet for a moment, before starting again, “No, I do not. But, I can assure you that I will get one as soon as possible.” As Kankri speaks, you notice his blank eyes flicker around, and there is a small, almost undetectable waver in his voice. 

“If you don’t have one, you got nothin to work with. I have a digital one that’s on an app, but I don’t think that falls under your ‘variations’, and I don’t plan on doing kiddy stuff like that,” you admit that that line was probably harsher than what is appropriate for this situation. But, once the thought forms, there’s nothing you can do to stop it from prying it’s way out. Even before you even know what it is.

You can see his eyebrows knit together, “I said I will get one. Honestly, I’m doing you a favor by even coming out here and agreeing to work with you when clearly no one else will. And honestly, Cronus? Maybe they were right to not have come. Not with you acting like this, that is.” 

“Fine, I’m sorry. I still don’t know that I can trust you though, I mean- where even in the bubbles is something like that, especially one that belongs to you. Do you even have a hive, man? It seems like ever since we got here you've just been leeching off of Porrim-“ he cuts you off.

“That is none of your business! Honestly, I do not mean to be any way insensitive but you, as a privileged biological highblood, who claims to know what lowbloods and off hemospectrum trolls go through on a daily basis would EVER question such a thing as whether or not we have a hive!” Struck a nerve there, Ampora. Nice going. “Why don’t you ask that question to Damara? Hmm? You know, our friend whose home got blown up and had to go live in the forest with Rufioh and the rest of their now nonexistent, priorly dysfunctional squadron and see how that goes for you.”

You suck in air through sharp teeth, giving yourself a mental slap for not remembering to watch your tongue around him. Vantases are sensitive and brash, and right now, Kankri has turned a bright red color, filling up this section with fuming noise. You stand up, and his line of vision tracks your annoyed expression as you do.

Once he seems like he’s done with his paragraph, you butt in, “Alright, I get it. No asking about whether or not you guys have a hive: Noted.” He huffs at you, but does at least stop his lecturing to glare up at you, and steps back. “How about we give it a wipe, hm? You get your stuff sorted out and I’ll prepare a few songs to practice or whatever.”

He’s gone silent for a moment, almost seems to be relaxing, “Fine. I’ll see you in a wipe. And my apologies for lashing out at you. It’s just that homelessness, especially for the lower castes, is a big issue and it would be better for you to not inquire about such things. I mean, it wasn’t even the topic at hand. I can only assume that it would make them feel even lesser than they already do, especially when presented with such a thing by a biological violet blood.”

You nod, humming a small noise of understanding before he waves you off and turns heel.

The interaction was brief, but it gave you a lot to think about, especially since now you are just only now realizing you have very little knowledge about Kankri’s time on Beforus, and most likely, the only two who would, would be Latula to Porrim.

Though, you doubt you are ever going to get a word out of those two.

A few hours have passed since your interaction with the violetblood occurred. And since then, something had been prying at the back of your mind.

There was a crushed flower, withered and greyed, laying beside Cronus on the grey and creamish colored stump. You waved off Porrim as you left your shared hive, explaining that you would be “out, running a small errand.” She let you go, and you made your ways through the bubbles.

Eventually, you came to the same meeting place where you both had chatted. Fortunately, the flower was still in the exact same position, lying against the rough, chopped wood.

Picking the plant up, you encased it in the Encryption modus, it falling to the ground with a noticeably loud thump.

You’ve noticed how the afterlife has treated your friends’ bonds and relationships. Although Damara and Meenah may be still captured in a platonic rivalry, and Kurloz and Meulin ended on somewhat bad terms, the afterlife has repaired them, or atleast put them on the right path for a better, more stable future. 

You wonder if it could do the same, not just people’s relationships could heal in the afterlife, but for a more physical healing experience.

After thirty or so minutes, you arrive back home and rush to your room, taking out a small clay pot that you found in a chest, some fertile dirt you were given from one of the humans (Jade, was it?) and placed the withered flower inside.

Now, all you had to do was wait and see.


	5. And They Were Hivemates

The lock clicks into place quietly as you shut the door. A heavy exhale leaves your chest as you bring up a warm and slender hand to comb through messy, untamable hair. 

Kicking off your shoes, you take a second to gather the surroundings. There’s loud, distressed noise coming from the rumpus room. Howls and pleads fill the hive. She’s probably just watching her movies again.

Nevertheless, you take caution in case it is actually someone getting murdered. Your light footsteps reflect this as you walk towards the  
noise, looking in at about five paces. She’s propped up on the muted green loungeplank, remote still in hand, very much dead, but not nonexistent. 

“Hey,” you greet Maryam, calmly. You admit that the way you treat her inside the two of you’s private corner is far from what others might expect from what they see you are out in public. She turns her head, pauses the movie. It lands on a particularly gorey scene, a bronze blooded girl lies unconscious, you can see copious amounts of powered sopor in the background, blood, and some kind of lime-ish white liquid pooling out onto the floor from her nose and mouth. “Which one is this?”

She hums a small sigh, before turning to you and responding, “In which main characters A and B are hitmen with a penchant for philosophical discussions-”

You cut her off quickly, waving a dismissive hand, “Just the nickname. I understand that formality is usually the best way to have a conversation, but I don’t need to hear all that right now. Just the nickname would be fine, please.”

“Pulp Fiction. Though, you wouldn’t like this. Too many offensive slurs and mature content for you to ever enjoy,” she says, jokingly, and looking back at the screen. 

You hum, “You're right, actually. I didn’t like it. Also having a Blueblood playing a Purpleblooded character? It’s incredible how they even managed to do that without getting any backlash for it. It’s practically appropriation of the church!” You respond, mocking yourself. She raises an eyebrow to you, smirking. “Yes, okay, I admit it that you’re right. Though, I still don’t think it needed to be that openly hemophobic.”

Porrim nods, “So what did you need? You usually aren’t in this kind of talkative mood when you get home, something going on?” You can feel your heart skip, but not in the good way. Dreadful, actually.

“Well, actually,” you begin, “I need to know of Aranea’s whereabouts. I thought you would happen to know since you two seem close enough.”

Maryam unpauses the television, but has the volume turned down, “Oh? And why do you need to know?”

“Because I have something to ask of her, well specifically about Meenah.” You see her visible scrunch up, most likely envisioning a dreadful interaction between you two.

“They’ve been dating for a long time, Kankri. I don’t understand what there is to get,” she responds, raising an arm to lie against the head of the loungeplank.

“I’m not talking about that, Porrim.” 

Her eyebrows knit together, once smile forming a tight frown, “You aren’t actually going to go through with that, right? I understand how you feel about Cronus being ‘left behind’ and all, but honestly, Kankri? He deserves to be, you’ve seen the way he treats Mituna, haven’t you? You don’t need to risk your mental state for some low-life douchebag like him, or anyone really. We’re all just a bunch of assholes anyway.” You know she’s being genuine, and you know she’s concerned, but something about her reaction drives you up the wall.

“I’ll be fine, I can handle myself, stop thinking otherwise. Just- do you know about Aranea’s location or not?” you ask, a little reddened.

She’s quiet, almost looks stuck between unsurprised and staggered. A beat passes, she speaks up, “I can go with you, if you want.”

Your face tints moreso. “I don’t need that. Stop treating me like a wriggler,” you demand, raising your voice unconsciously. Oh, how quickly an atmosphere can change.

“She’s in the sea and brains section. I won’t stop you, as you are your own troll, but still.”

Without a word, you put on your shoes once more, and make your way out, feeling her worried stare drill holes into your back. 

You sit on the soft, patterned couch, or lounge pad. The word for the furniture differs quite often in your hive, though you usually stick with couch. Less syllables, less complicated, less likely to mix up and confuse.

Loud, fast paced music fills the room, accompanied by action-packed sound effects and radical motivating phrases. Your eyes are focused in on the screen, jamming away at the buttons and joystick of your bright red and teal controller in hand.

You're proud of the design, having the controller custom made and all. And soon enough, a bright, repetitive flash comes from beside you, blinking once every half second. Someone’s trying to contact you.

You pause the game and toss the controller to the side. Usually, you don’t get phone calls, normally they’d just show up, knocking at your hive’s front door. The device displays a pixelated image of the troll who is currently occupying your pale quadrant.

Porrim’s worth pausing the game for any time.

“Hey, babes! What’s up?” you respond enthusiastically into the receiver.

You were expecting frustration, tranquility, even snarkiness, but not this. Her voice was low and filled with brooding, “Hey, Latula.”

You blink for a second, “Yo, what’s wrong? Some dead troll messaging you on bubblr got your mind messed up or somethin?” 

“No, no it’s not that. Hey, am I on speakerhusk? If so, could you please take me off of it? I’d like this conversation to be strictly between us.”

You throw an arm over the headrest of the couch, “Hey, Tuna doesn’t gossip!” You don’t think that was the right response, but light humor does diffuse a situation, right? Anyway, you click a button and raise the phone up to your ear. “Okay yeah, seriously what’s going on? Did something happen?”

The line is quiet for a moment. “I’m worried about him, Tula. Do you remember the last time he went out there? It took eight days! Eight whole days, Latula! I don’t want to go through that again- I don’t want him to go through that again.

You look stunned for a second, you know exactly what she’s talking about. Funnily enough, Kankri is almost the source of every one of her problems, it’s as if she’s become the weary auspicious between him and the world, which includes his own self destructive tendencies. “I- I saw him walking out towards there when me and Tuna had gone with Kurloz- I didn’t even stop to think about the old concert hall.”

“Hey, don’t blame yourself. I’m the one who let him go in the first place,” Porrim responds, sighing. “I just need to have someone to talk to before shit hits the whirling device.”

“Alright, I’ll be over in a sec, lemme check up with Tuna and I’ll be right over. While you wait, try to ground yourself, make some tea. And plus, that was sweep ago, I’m sure he’s better about it now. Shit won’t hit the fan, I promise.”

She inhaled heavily, “I don’t know if I can believe that, but thank you, nonetheless, and I apologize for getting you wrapped up in my- our mess.”

You sigh, “It’s alright. I was pretty much wrapped up in it since I became the guy’s server player.”

The ground squelches beneath heavy boots, you never understood why this one was chosen to be one of the main bubbles your team resided in. Despite this, Porrim was right. You see the cerulean blood in the distance with her shop set up and patiently awaiting arrivals.

You greet Aranea with a simple “Hello,” and begin business.

“Oh, hey, what is it that you need information on today, Vantas?” her tone is underlined with sing-song and practice, almost as if she’s rehearsed this a thousand times before. 

“Aranea, please stop. I’m coming to you as a friend, not a ‘customer’. I simply need to know where Meenah is right now. As her proclaimed Matesprite, I figured you would be the one to know. Please correct me if I am wrong and those relations have changed since then, of course,” you respond, folding your hands together, trying your best to not let your eyes focus on the pulsing ground underfoot. The sight alone is nauseating.

She looks slightly surprised, but answers nonetheless, “I don’t know where she is right now, but it can be assumed that she’s headed this way if you need to talk with her. Though, I would probably advise you to wait until later because until then, we both will be a bit busy.” 

You scrunch up your nose, glaring up at her in disapproval, “You know flaunting your relationships to others who do not have quadrants occupied can be considered a form of microaggression. And besides, I’m positive you could have come up with a phrase that wouldn’t have left room for any innuendos.” She scoffs at you. “But thank you, anyway, for your help,” you end, walking off without even giving her the chance to pay you.

She insults you as you stroll away, keeping your head held high. The barb was not fully made out, but you could still hear the sharp noise, and felt it hang in the air around you.

Soon enough, you are back to the front door of Porrim’s and yours shared hive, simply wanting to grab a few items before you begin a minor heist. Nothing too dramatic, just a simple in and out. Stealing some keys, using some keys, and if you are lucky: returning some keys with anyone none the wiser.

What you didn’t want to see, however, was your long time hivemate and even longer time crush shoosh-papping it out on the couch. 

The two looked aghast, one clearly in a bigger disposition than the other, but irregardless, surprised at your presence.

You let out a long, exaggerated groan of frustration: “Must EVERYONE be on dates today?!”


	6. Thief

You turn right and huff up the stairs, making a left and down the hall to your private block. It’s messy, drawers opened and papers scattered over the desk where your husktop also is. The walls are decorated with various posters from various musicals you used to delve into whenever you could, but that was a long, long time ago. Now, they only greet you with pitiful nostalgia. You watch your footing, and make your way through the scattered, dirty clothes and a few chords. You sigh, sliding your back down the side of your recuperacoon, opting to just sit on the floor.

A few minutes passed, you knew you put up quite a show back there, and that there was a chance Porrim was going to leave Latula to come check up on you. But she didn’t, which is exactly what you were hoping for. Porrim was preoccupied so you could simply gather what you needed and head out.

You lock the door to the block and disrobe from your signature bright red sweater. Just as you were about to unbuckle, their voices picked up, seeming to come closer. Upon further inspection, no, they were still just sitting on the couch. It was fine. You switch out the “righteous leggings,” as you would call them, for a pair of old, grey sweatpants. You take to the closet, pulling out a black turtleneck and putting it on. The mirror shows your reflection, you two really do look identical, huh. Well, almost. You run your hands through your hair, scruffing up your expression. No one would, or could, tell the difference, you hoped.

You pause for just a second, listening. It’s nothing, it’s fine, you reassure yourself. You prop up your window with a bar, cross the room to unlock the door, and leave.

Your palmhusk is with you, but the tell-tale ring of Porrim’s call hasn’t come from your sylladex yet. Still busy, you assume, even nearly half an hour after your “great escape.” 

The waves lap at the shoreline, the memories of small aquatic lusi bury themselves in the damp sand after the water retreats. You’ve been gnawing a small cut into the inside of your lower lip. “You can’t drown, nothing can kill you. It’s fine. There is air inside the castle,” you repeat these and similar phrases to yourself both verbally and mentally as you dip your foot into the salty water - a place a land dweller, let alone mutant, like you was never meant to go.

Two hours pass.

You climb, heaving, out of the ocean and onto the shore. You are almost positive you have swallowed an ablution’s trap worth of salt water, and doubt you’ll ever want to go into the ocean again. Your throat burns and your face is reddened as you lay in the sand, trying to dry off what you can before going out, back into civilization. Wearily, you roll over, accessing your sylladex just to make sure. They are still there. Good, good.

After sneaking back in the way you came out, a quick change, and you're gone again. The house was quieter than usual, meaning the girls had probably gone out. You were going to have to be more cautious than ever to avoid the two, if the plan was ever to work.

But that wouldn’t happen. That wasn’t even your main worry at all at the moment, really. Not when before you, loomed a large and ominous quarts door, undoubtedly locked. You knew this, because you were the one to conceal in.

You step back, allowing the keys to fall out of your sylledex and thump onto the ground below, you sit down, entering the code “EL3TW5” and pick up the keys. Nausea begins to boil in your stomach, you don’t want to do this, but that is why you must. The click of the keys slowly turning in the hole echoed through the lonely, secluded bubble. In a flash, your vision leaves you and what returns is a sight you will never forget.

A grand auditorium, or concert hall, really. The chairs are made with soft velvet and colored to match with their respectable section, of course, leaving out the middle front row a simple grey. Those seats were reserved for the quadrantmates of the performers.

Above, a golden ceiling, chiseled and designed with utmost talent and precision. A golden chandelier hund from above, accompanied by 6 other smaller silver ones. The walls were monochrome fuschia patterns with gold, shimmering trim. It was beautiful, if not horrifying at the same time.

The scenery, of course, was not what irked you so.

The seats were filled in completely, nearly a thousand or so trolls all gathered together to watch a performance, and yet could they really be considered trolls? They looked as if they had been skewed and whisked - crude faces and mesh of flesh and horns. The faces were blank and obsolete, wiping away any life there could have been. If you tried to speak with one of them, only garbled whispered and murmurs could come, and usually it was several voices blended into one. The further you inspect into the audience, the more they looked unreal. They were slop, absure memories of only the shape.

At your entrance, the “audience” claps politely, though it really just is the memory of the sound of it. From beneath the memory, you can hear what it actually sounds like, slop mashing together without rhythm or pattern, flesh and blood and horns mixing together. It only gets worse the longer you concentrate. Though they have no eyes, you can feel their piercing glare against your back as you rush to the front stage. It’s made from simple oak wood. Nothing special about it, and you are about to go on, but then you hear her voice.

“You were late,” she calls out to you. You ignore her and step onto the stage. “I never wanted to be here, you were the worst thing that has ever happened to me,” she speaks again. You look down, feeling yourself recoil back into those dreadful memories, but you don’t respond. “Stop crying, it makes you look more like cullbait than you already are - or were really,” she laughs.

With each step you take, another taunt is thrown. It feels as if the weight of the world is piling itself one piece at a time atop your back.

“I’m not crying,” you mutter to yourself, but can feel your eyes and heart get heavy. 

“Don’t talk back to me.” You don’t know why, you don’t mean to or have any desire to at all, but you still look up at her, sitting in the very middle section of the front row.

Out of everyone, she was perfectly there. Her hair was long and wild near the ends. A jade-green sweater vest with a black long sleeve undershirt, complete with a tie. She wore a short black skirt and bright red glasses. A distinct, never-changing look of displeasure settled across her face, and it must have been there for centuries before your existence. It’s a look that can turn even the strongest of trolls into submission. Even when sitting, she loomed over you, and you ducked away.

Why are you doing this? She is just a memory, leave her alone. You try to move, but you are frozen in place, it feels as though if you move, everything would come crumbling down. Regret settles in your stomach, and the tears finally fall, coating your grey skin with a new shade of red that is too bright to be respectable.

“I am sorry, Ms. Skalbi,” you choke out.

She grunts in distaste, “Be specific, can’t you, Kanny?” Your mind short circuits, and you can feel your vision going blurry. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to formally apologize to someone, especially after you ruined their entire fucking life.”

You apologize again, “I am sorry, Ms. Skalbi, for wasting your time as well as talking back to you. I promise it will not happen again.”

She waves you off, “Go on, perform already so I can leave. Everybody’s waiting and youre just standing there like a brain-dead mutant.”

You jolt back, and look up. Right, theatre, plans with Cronus, piano. Get the piano. Get the piano and leave.

And you do so.

You fidget, tugging angrily at the neatly made cuffs of your sweater with your free hand. You let her, no, it get to you again. Your face is a mess and your eyes still glisten with just the faintest hint of tears. You dust yourself off, running hands through your still-damp hair and walk off towards Cronus’s hive.

Speak of the devil, your palmhusk vibrates from your pocket. You take it out, and read over the messages

CA: so are you comin or not

Of course he has the audacity to be that impatient with you, how ungrateful.

CG: Impatience is an ugly trait t9 have, Cr9nus. I was simply retrieving s9mething and it t99k l9nger than I expected it w9uld.  
CA: you mean the piano  
CG: Yes, n9w, if y9u c9uld unl9ck the d99r f9r me in advance, it w9uld be charita6le 9f y9u. I d9 n9t wish t9 waste any m9re 9f y9ur 9h-s9 preci9us time, 9f which y9u technically have an eternity’s w9rth 9f.  
CA: alright jeez  
CA: its unlocked  
CG: Thank y9u

You arrive at the front “door” of his hive, which is, more accurately, just some large hatch opening in a flamboyant violet airship, assembling a naval warship. 

You pad up the walkway. The bottom of your shoes hitting against the cold metal makes a small, repetitive clack noise as you do so. Inside, paintings of past victories and framed photographs hang on the walls, in the center, a nice seating area. There is a hallway to the left and the right. In front of you stands a golden spiral staircase, leading up to an upstairs balcony, overlooking the main room of the house. The balcony extends on both sides into hallways.

You clearly forgot how wealthy seadwellers could be. 

After a moment or two of silent gawking, a voice comes from above, “I’m up here, come on.”

Confused of how he knew you had arrived, you respond, “Alright, just a second.”

You switch the instrument from under one arm to the other, and climb up the steps in a jagged manner. You wish you had set your sylladex to literally anything other than Encryption before you died, but alas.

Nevertheless, you made your way up the stairs, unceremoniously knocking the end of the keyboard against the railing every three seconds. When you make it to the top, he’s waiting for you with a slightly annoyed and slightly amused expression.

“Gone for a swim, Kankri?” he raises his eyebrows, eyeing at your hair.

“No, I just took a shower before I got here. You know I don’t swim,” you lie, looking off to the side at the cream colored walls. They have the same gold trim as-

“Also whyre you carrying that? You got a sylladex, don’t ya?” he questions, cutting you out of thought.

You click your tongue. “Well, I regularly would have utilized it, but given the circumstances (and the mode in which it is permanently set to), I don’t think it would be in my or your best interest to do so,” you respond bluntly, raising a nose to him.

“‘Kay I admit that’s a good point, but still. That looks heavy, you want me to help you with it? It’s like, three-fourths your size, man.” You can’t tell if he’s trying to neg you or offering help. Your brain settled on the prior, due to the fact that it’s Cronus Ampora.

You huff, “I would appreciate it if you would not bring my size up, as it can be damaging to my image. Secondly, I have been handling it just fine on my own this far, and therefore I certainly do not need or want help from you, Ampora. Although, I suppose if that remark actually was in good thought, I thank you for offering, but I can handle my own load.” 

Cronus groans inwardly, glancing around the hive. “Fine then. So, what do you think of my place? Cool, huh.” He’s asking an awful lot of questions. 

“Well honestly, and please don’t take offense to this,” you begin, “but I was actually expecting something much more,” you pause, “messy. It’s actually quite nice, if not an overzealous and somewhat offensive flaunt of your former status on Beforus. I mean, it wasn’t even underwater, either. You were practically flying this thing around the entirety of Alternia twenty-four-seven. Though, I suppose that is really the empire’s fault and not yours specifically, and besides, you did design it with obvious precision and taste.”

The violetblood responds unenthusiastically, “Sure, thanks, Vantas.” You glance around once more, and something catches your eye, something out of place. Next to a door, a mop is propped up, accompanied by a broom and a tub that still has a faint shine on it. Was he cleaning before you got here? Possibly, but it could also just be a coincidence that those were out. Maybe it was something from this memory. Either way, you wouldn’t be the one to tell, as this was your first time ever even venturing into this bubble. You glance back to the owner of said hive. He’s leaning against a wall, twiddling with an unlit cigar between grey fingers. “So, if we’re gonna do this, I guess you’ll need to know your way around. I could give you a-”

You cut him off swiftly, “There is no need for that. I am not interested in a tour of your hive, Cronus. Just show me the way to your workspace so we can begin work.”

“Alright sorry for offerin’, jeez.”

He leads you down the hall to a larger room, and as you walk, he complains about how “all you cats ever do is turn me down,” or something upon those lines. You weren’t really listening.

In the room, there are three loungplanks, a monitoring system, a computer, a closet door, and a narrow staircase. He moves across the room, and gestures to the stairway. It’s unlit and blocked off from the rest of the block, almost. Old, dull pictures hang on the wall, and the door looms above. You move to get behind him, thinking that he would absolutely not ever make you go first.

This does not turn out to be the case. Cronus steps forward, and then to the side, gesturing up the stairs. “After you,” he says, with a sing-song tone in his voice. You, not wanting to admit that you are somewhat scared of a simple staircase, begin to climb it with your heart in your throat, and he follows in after you.

When you opened the door, however, what greeted you was not in fact the double-death trap you were expecting it to be. It was a blue and red themed recording studio, fit with desks, fling cabinets, guitars hanging up on display, microphones, amps and all. You knew Cronus took his music seriously, but not to this extent.

He pulls open one of the cabinets, taking out a folder and setting it down on the desk. “You can put your stuff over there for now, if that won’t offend you,” he snarkily jokes. “I’ve already arranged some songs to look at, they should be in that folder there. You can look over them and pick which ones y’like while I hop to the bathroom for a sec.” And just like that, he’s gone. You hear him pad down the stairs and the sound fades away. You are now completely alone for an indefinite amount of time in possibly the most insufferable prick imaginable’s hive, and are expected to diligently work with said prick.

You sigh at your pitiful situation, and scan the room once more, just to see a certain item the Ampora accidentally left behind, begin to vibrate rapidly: his palmhusk. You creak open the door. He’s still in the bathroom.

After a brief pause you decide, yes, this is fine and completely rational. You pick up the device, and turn on the screen. 

CondescendingCuller started a new memo.  
CC: WHO-EVA  
CC: TH-E FUCK  
CC: BROK-E INTO MY )(IV-E  
CC: AND L-EFT T)(IS B-EHIND THINKIN YOUR-E SLICK,  
CC: YOUR DAYS  
CC: AR-E  
CC: NUMB-ER-ED  
CC: (+1 attachment)  
CondescendingCuller ended the memo.

Without really thinking, you slide to the passcode of the phone. Now, if Cronus was to ever have a password, what do you think it would be? The name of his billion-sweep crush? Probably.

You enter the digits. 6 for M, 3 for E, 3 again, 6 again, 2 for A, and 4 for H. Unsurprisingly, it unlocks just like that. Your face contorts with cringe. Nevertheless, you search through his applications, selecting the trollian icon, and delete the memo.

You lock the palmhusk once more, place it back down on the table as if nothing had ever happened, and patiently wait for Cronus to return.


	7. The Café

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kankri and Cronus have a “business meeting” at a café.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this when I was recovering from a really bad stomach bug and then edited it a bit, so sorry for this chapter being a bit long and possibly shitty.

You drag black and white tennis shoes across the semi-destroyed side walk of an urban area. There are two of the humans walking together, the girl notices you looking and crosses over to the other side. What a pity. Nearby, a Captor leans against a building, his face alight with his palm husk. He’s too (or should you say two) distracted to notice you, so you carry on.

Soon enough, you loiter under bright, neon, blinking words that read out “The Scalding Leaf” - the name of your destination. But you can’t let people know that you meant to go here, no. Because that wouldn’t be “relaxed” and “cool” of you. You wait for a little while, glancing around and following the passing ghosts and dreamers with your eyes as they go about their (after)lives. No sign of him, though, and you are getting a bit bored just standing there like an asshole. Exasperatingly, you lean your head back to look up only for it to bang against a wooden sign you hadn’t seemed to notice before.

“What the-“ you turn around. The sign reads: “Women Only Cafe - Bronze+ - Violators will be terminated.” Terminated. You conclude that this is an Alternian memory, which honestly would make a lot of sense, and frankly, it’s embarrassing you didn’t come to this revelation a lot sooner. Most urban places on Beforus were kept up quite well compared to...this.

You peer through the tinted windows of the shop. There is Tavros turned away from your field of vision, sitting in a booth alone. A younger, white eyed Pyrope chats with a derse-dressed Dave at a two-seated table. Most importantly, a Kankri, possibly the Kankri you were supposed to meet up with, was already standing at the counter, scrolling through some app on his phone.

‘Why is he already here?’ you think to yourself as you pull open the door to the cafe.

The Cashier says something ininteligible, despite your biologically enhanced hearing to Kankri, holding out a drink and a receipt. He takes his order from the cashier, thanking her politely. The room is lit nicely with a purplish tint, fuschia light pouring through the open windows. It all makes the atmosphere settle into a more dreamy and amusing setting. You try to walk through the door inconspicuously, only for an unsettling, positive buzz to sound as the door registers your temperature. (You know, as all doors do.) Though, with the human and pyrope chatting enthusiastically, you doubt anyone really noticed it. You walk up closer and stand behind him. For whatever reason you decided that this was better than just saying hello, you don’t know.

Kankri turns, and he must not have noticed that you had come in, because when he does so, it is made clear that he was not expecting anyone to be standing directly behind him. He flinches, letting out a small gasp, one hand firmly holding the cup and the other on his chest. You blink, a little surprised yourself, and step back to give him room.

He takes the hand from his chest and places it over the top of his drink, glancing around to see if anyone else had been watching.

“Hello, you startled me quite a bit there, I’m sure you know that it’s rude to walk up to someone and not have them acknowledge your presence. I could have spilled my drink or worse,” he begins, a comical tone in his voice.

You aren’t really sure how to respond, and sort of just wing it without really thinking. “Uh, hey. Am I late, or were you just early, cause I didn’t expect ya to be here either, to be honest.” You look around for a clock theatrically, but even if there was one, you doubt you would be able to see it, given your crummy eyesight.

He shakes his head, “No, there’s no need for that. I arrived earlier than you purposefully, for my order usually takes a longer time to make, and I didn’t want to waste valuable time with something as frivolous as that.”

You nod, lightly grinding on the unlit cigarette between your teeth, “‘course you did.” That came off ruder than you had hoped for, and now are slightly regretting saying it but what’s said is said and what’s done is done.

He pays your little comment no mind and gestures towards the counter. “Are you not going to get something?” 

“Nah, I usually just got stuff from the vending machine anyway, but I had somethin’ before I came here, so,” you shrug awkwardly, not exactly knowing where you were going with that one. It was also a lie, but that doesn’t matter right now. You’re beginning to feel out of place here, and you’re pretty sure you’ve caught the lone Nitram glancing up every other minute or so.

Soon enough, Kankri coughs, redirecting your attention back to him, “So, where would you like to sit?”

You actually do have an answer for this one, as you’s noticed the fenced-in area when you were loitering outside, “How ‘bout out back? It looks pretty nice out there.” You can feel your subconscious wanting to end the sentence with some cheesy pickup-line that Kankri would probably talk your fins off about. You just suppress the douchebaggery for now, and busy yourself by gnawing on the cigarette again.

The mutant simply nods, following your lead towards the grey, metallic side door. You hold it open for him, taking in the spectacle that’s been opened up to the two of you.

Beautifully twisted, blue trees with light pink leaves provide shade as a stone path leads up onto a spruce bridge. Quietly, a celeste blue, sparkling river flows underneath. Coral flora accent the area, giving the space a whimsical atmosphere. Kankri crosses over the bridge, and seems to be enjoying himself as well.

You follow Kankri, sitting beside him on a simple stone bench. “So-”

He cuts you off, “I would like to start this meeting on the right foot, as we probably got off on the wrong one last wipe.”

“Huh?”

“Let me finish - It was not a particularly good day for me and after reviewing it, I did notice that I may, and most likely inadvertently did, have taken some of that negativity out on you. My apologies, I promise to be more cooperative in the upcoming future, and do hope that you will pardon this rut so we can dutifully move on with our afterlives.” You can’t tell if he’s actually trying to apologize in his own holier-than-thou way, or just being annoyingly stuck up. Probably a mixture of both, if anything.

You scratch at the nape of your neck, “Yeah, I get that. I feel like I did some o’ that too, I guess. yeah.” That was a lie. That day actually went pretty okay for you, no fights with anyone. You were just acting your normal self, and honestly? Kankri was probably doing the same, or atleast has ‘not particularly good days’ 6-and-a-half days a wipe.

The silence between you two grows longer and uneasy. The only sound that remains is the subtle, almost silent, flowing of the river and the red folds of Kankri’s sweater being moved as he brings his hands up to drink.

He puts the cup down in his lap once more, “So, we should probably discuss scheduling, like how frequent will our ‘rehearsals’, if you wish to call them that, will be.” Though he has no pupils (just as any ghost would have), you can see that his vision flickers around. After all, ghosts are not the only ones with blank eyes that you’ve dealt with before.

Your mind wanders back to the training on Beforus, how you worked alongside the Lusus Control Agency (LCA for short), and be trained on how to handle lusi, whether they be rampaging or cowardly. One of the things they taught you was to look for blinking and eyebrow movement, these usually signal that the fauna is looking around, especially those of mammalian nature.

This is a trait that can also be found in trolls. You look back at Kankri, only for him to be looking back up at you with an expression of perplexion.

“Oh- were you saying somethin’ again?” You hope you didn’t just dig yourself into a hole there. A hole which can be filled with text upon dialogue upon speech, all lecturing you about how rude it is to space out in the middle of a conversation.

“We were talking about scheduling,” he said bluntly and unamused, looking down into the darkish green liquid settled in his cup.

“Well, whenever’s fine, ‘cept for Wednesday’s, ‘course.” You lean back against the bench, supporting an arm on the cool stone back.

“Why Wednesdays, in particular, if you don’t mind my asking?”

You laugh inwardly. “Game night with Ruf and the others, duh.”

He puffs out a chuckle as well, but more of in relaxed surprise compared to your playful sarcasm. “What-? You guys are still doing that?”

“Yep. You aren’t gonna just take away game night, are ya?”

He raises a dismissive hand, waving off the notion. “No, I’m just surprised is all. I mean, that begun when we were all still on Beforus, for goodness sake. I’m allowed to be a little shocked that it’s been going on for basically an eternity and I hadn’t even caught wind of it. I thought that ended after the Scratch,” he explains, “clearly, I was mistaken.”

You shrug, grinning in an almost agreeable manner. “To be fair, you, Vantas, weren’t a Master Flarper like we all were.” You enjoy this, truly you do. It’s been a long while since you’ve just sat down and chatted with someone, after all.

“Hm. And here I thought you said your days of sciences and wizardry were behind you,” Kankri says, arching an eyebrow. Eugh. That. You cringe, thinking back on your past self, decked in starred hats and capes. You’d like to keep the knowledge with you, but also would one-hundred percent go through the process of dying again to get rid of the blasted memories.

“Hey, don’t get me wrong,” you show him two palms, leaning away so there’s more space between the two of you. “It’s totally still nerdy as hell and honestly I probably am too mature for it, but come on. Tradition is Tradition, and Wednesdays are for kicking ass in Troll-monopoly.” Kankri chuckles at the last line, which you take as a gesture of polite courtesy and not genuine whatsoever.

“Who are all involved?” is his next question for you.

You count off their names on your hands, “Damz, Ruf, Tula, and ‘Ranea. Oh and Meu sometimes joins but she’s more of an off-and-on player than the rest of us.

Kankri sighs, “I am terribly out of the social circle, aren’t I.”

“Yup, but lemme work somethin’ out for ya, I can probably get you in though it would be pretty weird having a seven person group.” You most certainly can not work something out, because it’s been explicitly agreed by everyone joining that that particular one would wreak havoc on the actual experience, crushing any factor or fun there was left.

But you don’t tell him that, because who in their right mind would tell him that.

Thankfully, he declines: “No, no. You don’t need to do that - I was just thinking aloud, per-say.” You make a small noise of understanding in response, and notice your cigarette is getting awfully damp.

You wished that you had gotten a drink earlier, but it’s too late for that now.

He seemed to sit up straighter, and focus his expression back into one more emotionless, or ‘professional’. “But, we got off topic. I can do Saturday’s, is that an available option for you?”

You weren’t expecting such a quick change of pace, and end up unconsciously straightening up your posture as well, “Yeah, sure. Though I think we could get more work done if we went about it bi-weekly.” You don’t actually want to get more work done. You just want to be able to have more relaxed conversations like these more often.

“No, it wouldn’t be intelligent to over work ourselves, besides, there’s truly no rush. We have the entirety of the afterlife ahead of us, therefore, I think it would be best if we started slower. If problems with scheduling or other related topics arise we can either boost or lower the frequency of the meetings. Nothing should be set in stone at the very beginning, wouldn’t you agree?”

The rust gears in your mind are suddenly drenched in oil, and you fight off a snarky grin trying to creep up your face as you make your response.

“Yeah, agreed. But I gotta say, Kankri. I got a question for ya, if you don’t mind my askin’,” you mock him slightly near the end.

You complies unhesitantly, “Go ahead, I’ll do my best to answer your inquiry, but please do understand that I recognize that tone and if it is anything problematic or,” he pauses, “gross, I will end this discussion shorty and our agreement to work with one another will be terminated.”

Jesus Christ, does he change the tone fast on you. “Alright! I just wanted to simply know where ya got the piano, cause I got a pretty interesting message from Meen a few days ago, and I think it concerns you,” you playfully say, drawing out ‘pretty’. You tried to stay calm about this, but inside you were snickering like a devilish child.

Kankri looks like a deer caught in headlights. “I, I found it.” he mutters, looking as if to know he’s already been caught.

“Mhm, where’d you find it?” 

“In a bubble with a piano and a stage, where else do you think I may have found it?” It’s entertaining for you to get him like this, and something inside you wants to watch him spill.

“Yeah, and it just so happened to be fit perfectly to your size, along with no particular sign or caste-identifying blood anywhere?” you continue. Kankri shifts.

He goes for the pity vote, “You know me, Cronus. You have known me for an eternity plus three sweeps, don’t accuse me of such crimes when you are well enough aware that that act is beyond my morals and nature as a whole.”

You chuckle, “come on, just admit that y’stole somethin’. It’s no big deal, really. Sometimes you gotta do whatcha gotta do.” Kankri sets his tea down, now you really got him going.

“No big deal? Really, theft is in fact quite a ‘big deal’ because frankly, the thief in question wouldn’t be able to nearly have a close comprehension of what sentiments that such an object may have held. Please try to understand, Cronus, that I, as someone who recognizes that such an object may have been something special or even a comfort to someone, whether they be troll, human, or other-identifying, for we really don’t know who that bubble in particular belonged to. I would not ever admit to such a thing, because doing so would be lying, and as you and everyone surely knows, I am in no way a liar. Honestly, it’s quite offensive that you would ever think such things of me,” Kankri declares. His display resembles a heated defendant in a courtroom case. You never really noticed how animated Kankri was until now. As he lectures, his furry, thick eyebrows raise and knit together, hand gestures about and frequent nodding or movement of his head. It’s like he’s performing for an audience.

Your rebuttal takes the form of a sarcastic agreement: “Oh, actually my bad, entirely. You probably did just get it from a random bubble, with you being holy and righteous n’ all.”

You can’t tell if his own response is dismissive or genuine, “Right, now we can-” for you cut him off before you can get a clear answer for that private thought.

“A bubble specifically found n’ locked away by Meen. The one that as far as we all know, only she has the set of keys to? The keys that were stolen last week, ‘bout an hour or so ‘fore our meetin’.” You’re having fun with this, and it shows through your slang. It always reared its ugly head when you got some good entertainment, and the bratty yet perfectly poised Vantas you’d come to know (or tolerate, really) over the expanse of infinity breaking into The Heiress’ hive? That was good entertainment.

He sighs dramatically, throwing up his hands and clapping them down onto thin, lanky knees. “Alright, Sufferer, you’re beginning to sound like Latula cracking open a case…” You aren’t sure you were supposed to hear the last part of that, but he continues anyway, “I, perhaps, got into Meenah’s hive and borrowed some keys, with the utmost intention to return them once I had retrieved a certain necessity from a locked bubble, only to discover that I hadn’t had the time to return such things. Since then I have possibly been waiting for a proper opportunity to do so, and it is taking a little while because, now I don’t know if you know this, landwellers are not made to swim.” 

You breathily chuckle at his disposition, “Hey, why so defensive? I think it’s actually pretty cool.” 

The mutant seems to be caught off guard, and stumbles for words for but a second. “-What?”

You cock your head, shrugging, “I wouldn’t’ve had the globes to break into Meen’s hive, ‘specially without any gills.” You flare your own, opening and closing the organ as the thin webbing around the opening flutters. He seems to be eyeing you curiously, his eyebrows knit together. “Probably woulda just called it off at the start.”

Kankri breathes out through his nose, patting his knees, “Well. I thank you, I suppose, but please don’t go spreading that information around. It could damage my reputation, especially if it originated from your talk blaster.” He goes quiet for a moment, but you’ve known each other long enough to tell that he’s not finished. “So, what type of genre should we try to focus on? Any style in particular?”

You almost forgot that the whole reason the two of you met up was to discuss music for a second there, nice work. “Oh, well, this whole thing has kinda been for Meenah,” you say, shifting. It’s a little embarrassing admitting it out loud, even though almost everything you do is for her, or anyone, really, to like you. You’re aware of how desperate you are for a connection, but also are painfully aware of how far off you are from breaking away from that bad habit.

Kankri is quick to respond. “Understood. Oh, I should probably add that over the past few cycles, I have been reviewing some pieces of yours. I’ve noticed you don’t really have a ‘style’ in particular, which I don’t think is a very effective way to make an impact, as almost all of the content fluctuates. Well, except for the topic of romance, of course.” At least he’s honest with you, you guess. But you can’t seem to stifle the awkwardness. Once it’s been made plain as day that you’re kind of a Big Desperate Loser, you want to leave, or atleast change the topic as quickly as possible but that’s going to be a little tougher than hard to do.

“Yeah, I’m just tryna-”

“However, I suppose it’s not that big of a deal, as this is only the beginning and experimentation always helps with mapping out one’s strengths and weaknesses. Though, I do think eventually we must settle.” Kankri looks down at the flowing lake, seeming to be chewing on the inside of his cheek. You don’t enjoy being talked over, just like anyone doesn’t. It’s annoying as hell and although you’ve been handling it pretty well thus far, it’s starting to piss you off.

Kankri still seems to be thinking, so you take the opportunity to give your input, as it is surely needed, “Yeah, I was actually thinking the same thing. Like, we could mess around with it for a while and then, I dunno.” You shrug, tense. 

Kankri didn’t seem to have listened to you. “And on another note, I will not be doing anything that could be...disconcerting, to the general audience. Because some of your work, Ampora, imagine the impact it would have if a younger troll would ever hear such things! It would dirty their psyche immediately, I am sure. It’s not that I do not believe in creative freedoms, it’s just that as long as we are working together, I would rather stray from that topic, or atleast tag the work so those who are more vulnerable would not be influenced by it.” You flush a light shade of violet, in embarrassment and disgust, knowing exactly which ones he’s talking about. God, will he ever stop hitting the nail on the head.

“Oh- Yeah that, man I wrote that like- forever ago. I don’t do that shit anymore, promise. It’s only up, really, cause I don’t know how to take it down,” you grumble, truthfully. You’d die all over again to forget about those songs. (There’s a lot of things you’d die to forget about, now that you think about it.) They’re one of those things that you look back on and grow nauseous with cringe, beating yourself up for ever thinking something like that was a good idea. 

Blank eyes flicker between you and the water, and lays back, neck resting on the shiny metal of the bench. He hums, “Would you like to start a new account, then?” You fidget in your seat, not really sure what to say. You aren’t any good with computers and junk, to be completely honest. “I could manage the more technological parts of it while you would be the creative piece.”

You recall Kankri having some skill in working with computers back on Beforus, so you assume he knows what he’s doing and agreed. “Yeah that sounds great! Thanks man.” You’re less than enthused, but mask it, as you usually do.

He brushes off your response, “It’s nothing, really.”

The two of you make small talk as you wait for Kankri to finish his drink. It doesn’t take long, and soon enough you are both walking out of the cafe and back into the main bubbles. You raise a hand to wave him off as he trots up his way to his and Porrim’s and you continue on your own, padding your way to the more secluded bubble in which you dwell.

You recline back on the main seating section of your hive, looking over the events. Meetings will be on Saturdays, designated style will be chosen later, and nothing ‘problematic’ is allowed (but that was a given from the start). 

You feel better now, that you are at home and alone. No more needing to watch your tongue or wondering how long the next response will be. You think back to when you were getting antsy to leave, and almost begin beating yourself up for it. You were having a good, friendly conversation! Must you always ruin a good thing with melodrama, Ampora?


End file.
